A Labour of Love
by SageSloth
Summary: When the leaders of Hell find out that it was not Crowley who bathed in the Holy Water and lived they seek him out to take their vengeance. The only one who can stop them is Aziraphale, but when Heaven offers him the chance at redemption he makes a mistake which comes at a cost. Now the angel must find a way to save his friend, even if that means going to the birthplace of pain its
1. Chapter 1

In the days that followed The-Armageddon-That-_Never_-Was, Aziraphale and Crowley had set up a new arrangement. They would spend their days as they wished, sometimes creating miracles and mischief wherever they saw fit and other times just enjoying the world as it was, not destroyed, but in the evenings they would always come together. They would dine in a place of the angel's choice then go to one of their homes to sleep the rest of the night away. It suited both parties as it adhered to Aziraphale's love of food and Crowley's love of sloth. Some nights they would stay at the book shop. Aziraphale would work on restoring or researching old books for his collection and Crowley would sleep on the old but perfectly preserved couch in the back room. Other nights they would spend the night at Crowley's flat so that he could have the pleasure of sleeping in his own bed. Although, as much as he loved his sleep, if the angel ever expressed the desire for a little snooze Crowley would always give up the bed for him. It didn't seem right to him, an angel sleeping on the couch. It was like imaging his beloved Bentley spending the night in a rusted old garage in one of the seedier parts of town.

It was on one of these nights, in Crowley's poorly lit but stylishly decorated flat, that an old friend decided to pay the demon a visit.

Aziraphale was snoring softly, his white hair sticking up in all sorts of direction and his cream suit perfectly folded and placed upon the leather armchair in the corner of the bedroom. Crowley stood in the doorway a moment longer than he needed. He only stopped in to check that the angel was actually sleeping and not just speaking words of comfort to the trembling house plant which sat by the window. His slim black shades were low on his nose, allowing his yellow eyes to glow in the moonlight as he watched the angel's stomach rise and fall with his breathing. There was something about watching Aziraphale that brought him more peace than he had found anywhere else in the universe. He had been everywhere, done and seen everything, and yet he always found himself here; watching this soft angel and wanting to follow him wherever he went.

Crowley pulled himself from the frame and closed the door softly behind him. Leaves shook in terror as he walked through the hallway back to the front room and lowered himself onto the black leather couch. It was low to the ground and wide, giving the demon plenty of space to stretch out his long limbs as he slept.

They had dined some hours earlier at a new Italian place in Victoria. Crowley hated Westminster, but Aziraphale had read some rave reviews in the local newspapers about Il Posto Italiano and just_ had _to try their spinach and ricotta arancini. Crowley had complained about the location, the name, the food and what he presumed the staff would be like, but dutifully drove them both there and requested a table for two.

Aziraphale moaned loudly as the battered balls of risotto crumbled between his teeth and Crowley tried desperately to feel annoyed about it.

'You have to try one, I implore you,' Aziraphale held his fork out towards the demon, and Crowley took the food from the prongs with his teeth.

He nodded in agreement and then drank some more wine.

'So,' Aziraphale dabbed his lips with a pressed napkin, 'I know you don't hear as much from your side as you used to-'

'We don't have sides anymore, remember?' Crowley wrapped his arm around the ear of his chair and slumped backwards.

'Right you are,' Aziraphale backtracked, 'that being said, I must ask, this influx of youths toting blades and being paid by adults, who should know better, to carry out heinous…' he clambered for a word that wouldn't hurt to speak, 'crimes.'

'Nothing to do with downstairs,' Crowley interjected, 'if that's what you were thinking.'

'I was afraid you would say that,' the angel sighed.

'Finish your food,' Crowley prompted, 'Humans are as they have always been. Tricky.'

'It was supposed to be your influence that made them so.'

'And the world was supposed to end a few weeks ago,' Crowley raised his brows, 'Things don't always happen as they were supposed to.'

'Angels weren't supposed to befriend demons.' Aziraphale offered in a sour tone, but a bright smile broke through.

'Exactly,' Crowley lifted his glass, 'and look how well that turned out.'

Crowley sat upright on the couch. The television was on, tuned to one of the radio stations rather than the normal programming. A low buzzing noise filled the room, not loud enough to hear if one was not alone or immersed in a task. The demon's instinct was to check if Aziraphale was still in bed, but as he stood he saw a figure in the dark. It was not the angel, it never could be. The stench coming from the person alone could never be attributed to the perfectly groomed Aziraphale, but there was also something inherently evil about the air around them. The television speakers buzzed and crackled as the person opened their mouth.

'Hello Crowley,' their voice came out like a slug crawling out of a drain pipe, but Crowley recognised it immediately.

'Dagon,' he said, 'I must say I prefer you as Freddie.'

At least when he spoke to him through the radio Crowley didn't have to see the termites slaloming between the demon's teeth. Dagon was extremely tall and quite slim and to the untrained eye may look a bit stupid. He had a long chin and eyelids that drooped so low it was a miracle in itself that his eyeballs were able to stay put and not slip out down his cheeks.

'To what do I owe the pleasure?' Crowley asked, watching the termites crawl out from Dagon's trouser leg and scuttle towards his plants.

'We know what you did, Crowley,' Dagon said, 'we know that wasn't you who bathed in the holy water and lived to tell the tale.'

Fear was something rarely felt in Crowley's chest. It was alien and unwelcome like a relative who only visits every other Christmas but treats your house like they own it, resting their muddy shoes on your cream couch and leaving their glasses to sweat all over your tables without a coaster to protect the glossed wood. He hid it well, but Dagon could sense it and licked his mud-caked lips.

'I didn't think field work was in your job description.' Crowley said, trying to ease his nerves with a puzzled frown.

'We've had a bit of an office re-shuffle,' Dagon purred like a cat with half a rat stuck in its throat, 'Ligur's position _opened up unexpectedly_ and they needed a body to fill it.'

'So they sent a secretary to do a loan shark's job?'

Dagon reached out a hand and Crowley felt his throat close up tight like a drawstring bag. He was incapable of making a sound as he clutched at his neck and dropped to his knees.

'I'm not a loan shark,' Dagon said, stepping closer to the purple-faced Crowley, 'I'm a bounty hunter, and that bounty doesn't have to include a corporeal form.'

Crowley slapped a hand against the floor, watching black spots appear in his vision and feeling his face turn numb.

'It's time you came home and took your punishment like a demon.'

'Oh no, you don't!' Aziraphale leapt out of the dark, his shirt buttoned unevenly and Crowley's spray bottle gripped tightly in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley hadn't died before. It was nothing short of a miracle really. He'd managed to keep hold of his human body for so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like before he had walked on two legs and held a steering wheel between clenched fists. As he lay dying on his polished black tiles he wondered where he was supposed to get a new body from. They don't make them like they used to and after the whole Armageddon thing, he was sure Beelzebub would demand his corporeal body be burned and refuse to gift him another so he would never walk the earth again. Oh, how he would miss the pleasure of the human world. His glasses dropped off of his face and cracked against the floor.

'I know your games, _angel_.' Dagon said, 'You don't scare me. That's just normal water!'

'Any body of water in the hands of an angel is, by definition, _holy water_,' Aziraphale said calmly, 'That's my theory anyway. Care to test it for me?'

Dagon let himself take a step backwards, watching the water sway inside the little green bottle and wondering whether it would lead to his demise of simply curl his hair. He decided that the risk outweighed the reward. How embarrassing it would be to be destroyed by an angel with what the humans called "bed-head". He left without another word and when the door shut behind him Crowley's throat gave way to air once more. His lungs pulled so hard for air that he choked on it, collapsing onto his side as his body struggled to regain its natural equilibrium.

Aziraphale was all arms, fluttering and flapping around before lowering himself to his knees beside Crowley, 'Oh, my dear fellow! Are you quite alright? That nasty piece of…well, something quite awful at any rate! I haven't the faintest idea I that whole _when an angel holds water it becomes holy_ lark is actually true or not, but at least it worked, old boy! Eh? Oh come now, your face is turning purple again now rather than blue. That's a start I suppose!'

Crowley had neither the heart nor the lungs to tell Aziraphale to pipe down. The angel helped him up to his feet again and let him take his rightful place in his bed.

'It's more used to now than it is me,' Aziraphale said, pulling the thick sheets over Crowley's long legs.

'It's still warm.'

'You're most welcome.'

Crowley's yellow eyes focused on Aziraphale. The soft, obedient angel had basically lied to save him. He put himself between a powerful and cruel demon…for what? Him? Crowley was sure he didn't deserve it, and when Aziraphale met his gaze it fell away. He pulled the sheets over his shoulders and lay down on his side, facing away from the angel.

'So,' Aziraphale said perching gently on the edge of the bed, 'They know about our little switcharoo, do they?'

Crowley muttered in agreement.

'And if _they_ know, it's not so far-fetched to believe that Gabriel and the like have also come to that same conclusion.'

Crowley rolled over again and looked at the angel, whose face had turned grave, 'You think Heaven'll come after you?'

He gave a strange little shrug, 'Not sure.'

'Well, maybe we can pull a reverse of what you did tonight?'

'I'm not sure I'm following you.'

Crowley sat up and leaned back on his hands, 'As long as we stick together we can look out for one another and fend off those from the other side. So you can scare off any demons that come after me with your angel schtick and I'll protect you from any angels that try and come for you.'

'Ah,' Aziraphale smiled, 'An Arrangement of sorts?'

'You don't have to call everything we agree on an arrangement.'

Aziraphale sighed, 'I suppose it's all we've got,' he looked at Crowley, 'each other, I mean.'

'Better than a kick up the arse.' Crowley said before rolling over inside the sheets again.

'He said what?' Gabriel placed a hand on his chest and laughed loudly.

Dagon waited for him to stop, his face unchanged. The sun was starting to rise over the London smog, but Tower Bridge was still lit up like a Christmas tree.

'Oh wow,' Gabriel wiped a tear that wasn't there from his eye, 'That little marshmallow cracks me up sometimes.'

'He got in the way of our justice,' Dagon said, mud dripping down from his lips as he spoke, 'He's your responsibility, so get him out of the way!'

'Look, I don't know how your boss feels about the whole thing, but ours is pretty keen on brushing it all under the rug and leaving it behind. Aziraphale and Crowelly, or whatever his name is, decided they didn't want to be part of either team anymore, I'm not going to go chasing after them like some jilted human lover. It's all a little embarrassing, don't you think?'

'They tricked us!' Dagon spat, 'They betrayed us and they should be punished! We can't touch the angel, but he's getting in the way when we try and get Crowley.'

'What exactly is it you want from me?' Gabriel asked, brushing his lapel and watching the termites crawl in and out of Dagon's nostrils, 'I have orders to leave Aziraphale alone, we're not hunting him or looking to put him to trial. It's not really our thing anymore.'

'What happened to sentencing to Holy Fire?'

'After the end of the world didn't happen we had a little…change of heart about how we conduct our business.'

Dagon scoffed, 'Convenient.'

'I'm sorry,' Gabriel shrugged, 'I can't help you.'

'What if you recruit him again?'

'What?'

'If Aziraphale was on your side again it would be illegal for him to meddle in demonic business, wouldn't it?'

Gabriel frowned and tapped his chin with his index finger, 'You're pretty _switched on_ for a demon. Where did they transfer you in from?'

'HR.'

'Ah, I see.'

'Lord of the Files.'

'Oh, that's good!' Gabriel clapped his hands together and laughed.

The Thames was the colour of toilet water, or whatever fluid was trickling out of the corners of Dagon's eyes.

'So do we have a deal?' Dagon extended his hand out.

The knuckles were so calloused that the skin had split in places and formed chasms between his fingers and Gabriel felt his stomach churn.

'I will talk with Aziraphale.' Gabriel agreed and pulled a handkerchief out of his inside pocket, 'If he is willing to be forgiven then we'll have him back on our side. But if not then you're on your own.' He shook Dagon's hand with the handkerchief separating them but the fabric came away and stuck to the demon's rotted flesh.

* * *

The rain was awful the next day. Aziraphale and Crowley travelled from the demon's flat to the angel's book shop and then stayed there for the remainder of the day. When it came to dinner time, Aziraphale started to long for something tasty so Crowley agreed to venture out into the storm and pick something up from a little Korean place that didn't deliver. Of all the places he could have had a craving for he had to choose the one that wasn't even on UberEats yet.

With Crowley gone Aziraphale began arranging the back of the shop in anticipation. He laid the table with all his best crockery, his nicest lace tablecloth and an old bottle of red wine that he had been saving to give Crowley for a special occasion. Immortal beings didn't have cause for celebrating anniversaries and a demon wasn't really the best person to celebrate Easter or Christmas with, so he thought a rainy day was good enough. He stood back from the table and beamed with pride. Crowley would love it, even if he didn't even say thank you Aziraphale would know that he was secretly pleased with the lengths to which he had gone to make their dinner nice in spite of the weather.

'Wanna spoon?' A familiar voice shot fear through Aziraphale and he leapt away from it, clutching at his tie.

Gabriel stood before him, holding up a spoon that he had picked up from the floor where it must have fallen. His light grey clothes were so clean it was like he was glowing and his face was painted with a wide grin.

'Aziraphale,' he spoke like he was happy to see him, which Aziraphale was certain was not the case.

'G-Gabriel,' He stuttered, 'T-to what do I owe the pleasure?'

'What, all this isn't for me?' Gabriel gestured to the table, still holding the spoon between his thumb and forefinger, 'No, of course, it's for that disgusting cretin you call a friend.' Gabriel's immaculate mask of composure slipped for a moment before clicking back into place, 'Exciting dinner plans?'

There was a strong part of Aziraphale that wanted to stand up and defend Crowley, but there was a stronger part of him that wanted to live and so he kept his mouth shut.

'I have come here today as a figurative olive branch,' Gabriel placed his hands on the top rail of one of the dining chairs and looked right at Aziraphale, 'We know what you and that heathen did. It was quite a clever plan actually. And we know why you did it. We understand. You didn't want a war. You wanted peace, which is what we all want. You could see that although another war with Hell would lead to our divine victory, it would come at the cost of countless human and angel lives and you didn't want that. Of course, you wouldn't. We understand. And we forgive you.'

Although Gabriel's face did nothing to hide his disdain, his words were exactly what Aziraphale had wanted to hear for a very long time. He was forgiven.

'You forgive me?' Aziraphale asked, 'For what?'

'For turning your back on the Almighty's plan and stopping the apocalypse.' Gabriel smiled sweetly. 'Sure, we were mad at first, but forgiveness is nothing if not our whole M.O., is it not?'

'I suppose…'

'I know what you're thinking, _but Gabriel what does that really mean_?'

He really did do a terrible English accent.

'It means you're back in the gang, Az. Azzy. Whatever.'

'The gang?'

'Heaven, dummy! You're back on the team, we forgive you and we want you back on the payroll. That is if you want to come back…'

Aziraphale considered what was being offered. He was no fool, he knew Gabriel could be tricky and had little desire to act in the interests of others. This could all be an elaborate trap to get him to sign up to the next attempt at the apocalypse. Or it could be what his heart had been searching for. Spending time with Crowley and being his own master had been fun, but Aziraphale was an angel. He was created to do good and to work towards the Almighty's goal for the world. Without any guidance or rules, he had felt so lost and filled his days with the pursuit of human pleasures such as delicious foods, luxurious naps and beautiful books. When was the last time he felt truly complete? No amount of food would satisfy him, only peace and goodwill.

'If I agree – to be forgiven that is,' Aziraphale said, 'Would that mean you get to order me around and send me across the world to perform whatever blessings and miracles you deem necessary?'

'Oh Heavens no!' Gabriel laughed from his chest, 'We don't want you back in business! No, you would be free to carry on the way you are now, but you would be held to our laws and be rewarded for the miracles and blessings that you do if you choose to do any. Think of yourself as a freelance angel.' Gabriel shrugged and started to wonder why he was offering all of this.

It wasn't he who decided that this whole forgiveness thing was a good idea, but when the Almighty had heard that the demons had suggested it She had to act quickly to ensure that they didn't start thinking that they were the generous ones.

'So I could keep doing what I'm doing, but if I wanted to do any miracles I would get rewarded for it?'

'Yes.' Gabriel said, his patience waning, 'but this is a limited time offer! If I leave this store without a deal then it's off the table for good.'

'Alright,' Aziraphale nodded, 'I accept. But only if I can stay friends with Crowley.'

'Do whatever if you want.' Gabriel shrugged and started to head for the door, 'As long as you don't start meddling in demonic matters that is.'

'Oh, don't worry about that.' Aziraphale waved him off, 'Crowley's not with them anymore-' he stopped, 'Wait!' but Gabriel had already gone.

_Oh dear_, he thought_, I hope this doesn't affect our new little arrangement._

The bell on the door jingled as Crowley walked back into the book shop with two bags of takeaway food and drenched clothes. He clicked his fingers and his clothes and hair were dry again, 'What'd I miss?' he asked, setting down the food on the table and upsetting the plate arrangement.

'Nothing,' Aziraphale picked up the bag and straightened the plates again, 'nothing at all.'


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale was uncharacteristically quiet during dinner. Crowley had noticed the absence of pleasure filled moans and anecdotes about the chef's preparation rituals. He watched the angel carefully once he'd finished his meal, waiting for him to offer to wash up. Neither said a word.

'You alright?' Crowley asked, lines forming between his brows.

Aziraphale appeared startled by the question, which in turn startled Crowley.

'What?' the angel chirped, 'Oh, yes. Quite! What a delicious meal!' His heart wasn't in his words.

It was in his shoes, dread pulling on its strings and forming a sweat on his brow. What had he agreed to? What were the angels planning? Had he been a fool to believe that he deserved their forgiveness and that he could find peace once again with his brothers and sisters? Crowley would call him naïve. That is if he knew what the angel had done. Aziraphale had seldom lied to Crowley and hated to keep things from his oldest friend, but he knew what the demon would say if he knew what had transpired that evening between him and Gabriel.

'I'll wash up,' Crowley stood from the table, his lean form towering over Aziraphale as he extended his hand out to receive his empty plate, 'Well, come on then!'

Aziraphale handed the plate over without another word and Crowley sauntered over to the kitchenette to clean up. The table was cleared of the dinnerware and Aziraphale sat back down with his hands clasped. They were wet, slick with worry.

'Right!' Crowley slapped a tea towel down on the table and Aziraphale flinched so hard he kicked the chair back across the floor with a squeal, 'Something is wrong with you and I demand to know what it is!'

'I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean—'

'You're lying!' Crowley pointed a long hand at him, 'Why are you lying? You don't lie!'

He was so close to telling him. _Just say it,_ the angel told himself, _he's your friend. He can help you._

'Aziraphale,' he felt a shudder move through him as the demon spoke his name, 'Tell me what's wrong. Please?'

The angel crumbled, 'Oh, my dear,' he was almost sobbing, 'I think I've made such a mess of things.'

Crowley was about to ask, _What the hell are you on about?_ But then the inoperative fireplace, stuffed with books rather than coal or firewood, opened up to three times its size and burst into Hellfire. Aziraphale flattened himself against the nearest wall and Crowley moved towards him to shelter him.

'What the—' Crowley looked at Aziraphale, 'What did you do?'

'It's time, Master Crowley,' Dagon's voice crackled through the computer on Aziraphale's desk, 'Come home and face the music.'

A long purple tendril shot forward from within the fires and wrapped itself around Crowley's wrist. It started to pull and Crowley stumbled forwards before leaning away from it.

Dagon stepped out from the flames with a grin, 'We must stop meeting like this,'

Crowley looked at Aziraphale who wouldn't meet his gaze.

'Come along now, Crowley,' Another slim purple tentacle grabbed hold of Crowley's other wrist and pulled him to his knees.

'Aziraphale!' Crowley shouted to try and wake the angel up, but he didn't reply.

'Your boyfriend can't help you now,' Dagon gloated, 'He's back in the angel clique.'

'You're lying!' Crowley cried and then looked back at his friend, 'Aziraphale, do something!'

The angel opened his mouth to speak but he could not. He could feel Heaven's Law pulling him back. He could not interfere with demonic matters. Apologies tumbled around in his head but none were good enough.

Crowley watched his friend with astonishment. It was true. He had betrayed him.

There were two things that he wanted to say, but he wouldn't say either.

The first;

_Aziraphale, how could you? You were my oldest and dearest friend and you turned your back on me. Why? What did they offer you that I could not provide? Please, dear angel, tell me that this isn't true and that you are still the only person I can rely on in this world lest I be completely devoid of companionship and love._

And the second:

_Aziraphale, how could you? You whimpering pile of festering shit! We're supposed to be friends, you coward, and you turned your back on me! After everything I've done for you! How could I be so stupid as to think that I could trust a pathetic angel like you? How could I let myself believe that you would be true to your word and not run back to your little ragtag band of sodding idiots the minute things got a little rough. You'll never change, you soft and stupid angel._

Crowley couldn't bring himself to say either of these things to his friend, but the real reason that he didn't is that a third tendril grabbed him by the face, forcing his mouth shut and clamping his lips together

Dagon grabbed a fistful of Crowley's deep red hair and pulled his head up to face him, 'Beelzebub has some interesting plans for you. Don't keep them waiting.'

'W-what are you going to do?' Aziraphale whimpered.

'Demonic matters,' Dagon purred, 'Not the business of an angel.'

'No,' Aziraphale tried to shout but his voice cracked and it came out more like a squeak, 'I demand you tell me what your intentions are with him.'

'Oh, you demand, do you?' Dagon's face broke out into a grin so wide that the boils on his cheeks burst, 'Well, in that case, we're gonna make him suffer worse than any angel can ever imagine and then we're gonna kill him, but not before we've had our fun.'

Aziraphale felt every fear about Crowley's safety that he had ever had since the beginning of their friendship rear its head. They had always known that their friendship was forbidden and had feared Gabriel's wrath should he have found out, but he knew that whatever punishment he was to face for breaking Heaven's Law, Crowley's would no doubt be worse. Hell was the place where evil thoughts were born. Demons were made to be cruel to not only humans but one another. Heaven dished out slaps on wrists and strongly worded letters and only resorted to execution in the most extreme cases. Hell resorted to decapitation in response to a cheeky comment. The angel had not the imagination to think of what horrors Beelzebub had in store for Crowley.

He inched forward, trying to rebel against Gabriel's hold but it was no use. It was not a choice for angels to obey the Law, it was an instinct too strong for almost all to fight. Like trying to sneeze with your eyes open.

And so Aziraphale watched as Crowley was dragged kicking and screaming into the fires of Hell.

Dagon turned to him for a final cackle before ducking into the fireplace and going to the same way as Crowley. The fireplace was dark once more, the last embers of Hellfire dying out as it shrunk back to its normal size.

Aziraphale dropped to his knees and held his face in his hands. Their Arrangement had failed. _He_ had failed his friend and practically served him up to Hell's vengeance on a platter.


	4. Chapter 4

Beelzebub had managed to convince Michael to let them keep the Holy Water. It had to be handled with care and only by the lowliest of demon to limit any risk of anyone important being destroyed by it. Once they found out that Crowley had made fools of them they began concocting a plan of vengeance. They found a way to dilute the Holy Water, and change its form which made the possibilities for fun and games endless.

They looked down at Crowley's wide yellow eyes, the vertical pupil as thin as a sheet of paper. His chest was exposed, his shirt ripped off of his back and burned, and his arms were raised out at his sides and bound to the stone table he lay on. His chest and ankles were also held down with thick, rusty chains and his mouth was covered by a mask of black leather. Beelzebub wanted to enjoy this, the last thing they needed to hear was Crowley's sharp tongue making clever comments between torture sessions.

'Master Crowley, formerly known as the serpent Crawly and more recently known as the traitor of Hell and lover of angels,' Beelzebub began in a grand voice as the crowd of demons around them jeered and heckled, 'You are sentenced to one hundred years of punishment inside the Stadium of Time Standing, equating to a thousand Earth years of pain and suffering, before execution by a manner of my choosing.'

Crowley's chest rose and fell quickly. He had barely the time to process his best friend's betrayal before he was facing a thousand years of torture and couldn't open his mouth to beg for mercy even if he wanted it. After being deceived by the only being he had ever cared about, Crowley wasn't all that opposed to his own destruction. He should quite like it if Beelzebub would just tip the universe's supply of Holy Water over him now and just get the whole thing over with. At least then he couldn't feel the ache in his heart.

Beelzebub started with sprinklings of diluted Holy Water. The droplets burned through Crowley's flesh like red iron pokers and brought screams of terrible anguish up from his chest. He writhed and struggled against his binds as the crowd cheered in horrified pleasure, but this was just the opening act. Blades of demonic silver hung from the walls of the stadium and Crowley supposed that they weren't arranged in any sort of order. Anyone of them could be next to cut through his skin and so he pressed his head against the stone table beneath him and closed his eyes.

* * *

It took several days for Aziraphale to pick himself up off the floor. Shame washed over him in agonising waves and once he got to his feet he almost ripped his throat in two screaming the name that was most on his mind.

'Is there a problem?' Gabriel appeared before him, ever the composed gentleman.

Aziraphale's distraught face elicited no pity from Gabriel, despite the pain that was ever present in his eyes.

'You knew,' Aziraphale said breathlessly, 'You knew they were trying to take him. You knew I was trying to protect him.'

'You look tired, Aziraphale,' Gabriel cocked his head, 'Maybe you should _sit down_.'

Aziraphale was thrown back into the seat of the dining chair, the wind knocked clean out of him.

'You wanted forgiveness,' Gabriel said, 'You accepted the offer. I didn't trick you or lie to you about anything. I gave you a way back in and you took it. Don't you dare try and pin any of your silly guilt on me and make me the bad guy.'

'You knew that Hell was after Crowley and that I would do what I could to stop them,' Aziraphale said, 'That's why you came to me.'

'The demons came up with the idea of forgiveness. That much I'll grant you. She was so insulted by this that she had to make sure that we offered it to save face. What Hell does with its own and whatever _feelings_ you have towards that filthy serpent is no concern of mine nor the Almighty's. Do you really think yourself so important?'

'I let him down,' Aziraphale whispered, not really to Gabriel or anyone in particular, 'I betrayed the only friend I had in the world. I'm supposed to be the good one.'

'And you are.' Gabriel said, 'You're back on the winning side. Forget about him and what they're doing with him, that's not for you to worry about. Put all of this being friends with a demon nonsense behind you and let's get back to work, huh?'

Aziraphale shook his head, 'No. I did not mend my ties with Heaven to break those I have with Crowley. He's the only person in the world who's ever actually had _my_ best interests at heart. You don't care about me, you care about the agenda and the plan. Whatever happens to me is irrelevant as long as someone gets the job done.'

'We're not humans, Aziraphale.' Gabriel said sternly, 'You've been down here so long you've forgotten what it means to be an angel. We serve the Lord, not ourselves or our peers.'

'But surely She cares what becomes of us? Surely she wants us to love and cherish one another.'

'You're not human!' Gabriel barked, 'You have no capacity for love!'

'That's not true.' Aziraphale said, 'It can't be. If so then what do I feel in my heart at the thought of my friend feeling pain?'

Gabriel sighed and glanced at his watch, 'Indigestion? You do eat a lot of that ghastly human food.'

'It's not indigestion!' Aziraphale stood up, not quite reaching Gabriel's height, 'It's love! I love Crowley and I know that even though he's a demon he has a love for me too. We care for one another just like She taught and if you were any sort of angel you would help me rescue my friend because he deserves to be saved.'

Gabriel would have laughed if he weren't so angry, 'He Fell, Aziraphale. A long time ago. No one but Lucifer can save him now,' he headed for the door, 'or maybe Death,' and then laughed.

_Death_, Aziraphale thought, _now there's an idea._

* * *

_Death, _Crowley thought,_ now there's an idea._

He knew what a thousand Earth years felt like and yet nothing could convince him that he hadn't suffered for at least a millennia already. The demonic silver ripped through his chest and sent his blood racing across his flesh. There was nothing he could do, no words he could spit or punches he could throw. He was bound and gagged and helpless as the torture continued. Every time his body was ready to give up Beelzebub would snap their fingers and he was mended once more like a fresh sheet of snow ready to defile and carve initials into.

Beelzebub reached their hands into Crowley's guts and pulled out whatever they could find, throwing at the screaming audience as Crowley's mask filled with blood. He was choking on it, drowning in it. Death seemed within his reach until the blood was drained from his lungs and the torture would start all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a long game of chess that finally decided Aziraphale's fate. A bit cliché really, but its Death, what do you expect. They sat back in the bench of the booth and looked out of the window, hollow eye sockets crawling with little white spiders. Aziraphale tapped the edge of the table patiently, waiting to see if the Horseman would accept defeat and agree to the terms of the agreement or simply kill Aziraphale on the spot.

'Alright,' Death grumbled, 'I will take you down into Hell and escort you on your quest, but I play no part in saving lives and will not assist you further.'

'That's all I need.' Aziraphale said, 'If I can get into Hell I'm sure I can come up with a way to get Crowley out again.'

That really was his plan. Get to Hell and then…do something? He didn't know how Hell worked, how normal demons thought or how they would react to an angel in their midst.

He came armed with Crowley's spray bottle, this time filled with actual Holy Water, and as Death brought him down through the Earth and into the depths of depravity Aziraphale felt all the goodness and love drain out of him. The air was thick and smoky and tasted like metal. There was barely any light and no one around to ask for directions. In the distance, he could hear cheering, like there was a human sports event taking place, but with more swearing and growling. He walked slowly through the halls, under the flickering lamps and with Death ambling behind him.

After some hesitant exploring, Aziraphale still hadn't found another person, but he had come to a long hallway with double doors at the end and a single door perpendicular to it. He decided to first try the single door and as he opened it he was hit by a wall of sound. Demons of all colour and creed screamed, jumped and fought along rows of dirty benches piled up like the seating arrangements in coliseums and theatres. They were all watching something through a glass window and as Aziraphale looked out he could see that they were looking down upon a circular stage where he imagined Gladiators would duel, surrounded by even more rows of screaming spectators. They didn't seem to notice the angel and he supposed that they were too excited by whatever was going on.

He couldn't see Crowley in their mix, but when he stepped closer to the glass to see what show they were all enjoying so much he found what he was looking for. The ground around them was dark, sodden with gallons of split blood both old and new. Beelzebub was laughing wickedly, swiping the long sithe back and forth through Crowley's midsection as he screamed beneath a tight mask.

Aziraphale felt his angel heartbreak. In all his years he had never seen such savagery, such horrific cruelty. They were laughing. Laughing and cheering as Crowley writhed and shrieked agony. One of their own was being torn apart and they all cried for more. If Aziraphale had not known it to be a fact he would never have believed that his dear friend was one of them. Crowley was capable of many a dastardly deed, but nothing as appalling as this.

'I won't help you, angel.' Death groaned, 'What you do now is at your own risk.'

Aziraphale swallowed hard and flinched at the ache in his throat, 'I know,' he whimpered.

'You think you can make a fool out of us?' Beelzebub cackled as they threw down the sithe. It hit the sand with a sick thump and they wiped Crowley's blood from their face and hands.

Crowley was beyond losing himself. He could no longer see in sharp focus, only light and shapes, blinded by unending pain and the feeling of dancing on the edge of Death and being pulled back again over and over. He couldn't remember his name, nor what his face looked like. He knew only the sounds of the crowd, the sight of his torturer's sick grin and the feeling of being pulled inside out.

He coughed weakly, choking and gasping on the blood that rose to the back of his throat and bringing it up out of his mouth and nose. His face was slick beneath the mask, stained with his blood. Humans were good at torture, imaginative, but they learned it all from the best. Hell was the birthplace of pain, the place that humans feared to go because of the threat of unending torture. They joked about being defiled by the devil for all of eternity, but they didn't know the meaning of the word until they arrived there. Crowley's body was no longer his own, it was broken and abused and cut and torn. He felt hands within his blood and bones where hands should not be and could do nothing to stop it.

It was, by definition, torture, and when he felt the presence of Death arrive in the stadium he greeted it like a long-awaited friend.

'What is he doing here?' Beelzebub squeaked, pointing their bloodied hands at Aziraphale as the angel and Death walked across the sand towards them.

'I've come for the demon Crowley,' Aziraphale tried so hard to keep his voice strong, but the demonic eyes all around him crawled into his skin and made him feel that no shower would be hot enough to cleanse him ever again.

'This isn't your jurisdiction!' Beelzebub growled, 'Get out before I call your boss!'

'I have no boss. I am a freelance angel and right now I am tasked with saving that wretched being from your cruel hands,' Aziraphale cried, 'He's not yours to punish anymore and I demand you lower your arms and set him free.'

'You and what army?' Beelzebub grinned, 'Face it, angel, you're outnumbered and you haven't got the backing of your lot anymore. You're powerless here,' they picked up a long blade from the table and held it over Crowley, 'just like him,'

As the blade plunged through Crowley's flesh white wings burst free from Aziraphale's back and his Heavenly light glowed within his eyes, 'I said set him free!'

Wings of a black moth sprouted from Beelzebub's shoulders and they hissed through sharp teeth, 'Don't you flash those here!'

Demons in the stands brandished their own dark wings and battered at the glass partition they stood behind.

Aziraphale revealed the little green bottle and the noise died down, 'I didn't want to use this,' he said, 'but I will if you cause me any more trouble. Now release my friend at once and we will be on our way.'

Beelzebub snapped his fingers and Dagon rose from the ground beside the angel, 'You're finished,' he growled and reached for the bottle.

Aziraphale squeezed the trigger and Dagon jumped back, screaming and clawing at himself as smoke and blood burst out from his chest and arms.

'Anyone else?' Aziraphale shouted, his voice trembling in his throat.

Beelzebub tapped their foot in rage, but there was nothing they could do. One spray of pure Holy Water could mean their complete destruction and the angel was not bluffing. Dagon escaped with his life, rubbing at his wounds as he limped for the door as fast as he could, but Beelzebub could not be certain that they would be so lucky.

They dropped the knife into the sand and stepped away from Crowley, the chains and mask falling away with a wave of their hand. Aziraphale ran to Crowley, paying no mind to the blood and gore all around them and laying his hands on his friend's chest and shoulders.

'Crowley!' He cried, 'Crowley, speak to me.'

Crowley's yellow eyes were vacant, the pupils as thin as Aziraphale had ever seen them.

'No,' Aziraphale whimpered, 'Crowley, please don't go!'

The demon again failed to respond.

'Death!' The angel cried, 'Get us out of here, _please_!'

Death waved a hand through the air and the angel and the demon found themselves on the floor of the book shop.

'Oh, Crowley, my dear. What have they done to you?' he sobbed, holding his friend's wilted form in his lap.

His long limbs lay sprawled across the floor and his head hung over Aziraphale's arm, his empty eyes facing the ceiling but not really looking anywhere.

Aziraphale pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped at the blood on Crowley's face, 'There now,' he said, sniffing back tears, 'let's get you looking a little more presentable, shall we?'

Crowley didn't react. He didn't laugh or sneer or swear. Oh, how Aziraphale longed to hear Crowley swear at him. He longed to hear him say anything at all, or do anything.

For hours he sat on the floor with his friend draped across his lap, caressing his face and rocking him back and forth. He couldn't imagine what his friend was feeling, but he knew what he needed. Torture and pain are the destroyers of love and that was Aziraphale's speciality. He exuded love out of every pore, singing songs of affection and touching Crowley's cold skin with such care that it made his heart flutter.

If angels were incapable of love then Aziraphale had to be another breed entirely. Hours turned into days and still there he remained, by his friend's side working hard to rid him of the dark cloud that gripped his bones.

The rescue had been a blur for Crowley. He knew that the pain had stopped momentarily and that Death was near, but then he was stabbed again and suddenly there was light. Was this death? No, it wasn't. Still, he breathed and still, he bled. A voice cut through the darkness and a light face appeared to him. It was familiar, but not recognisable. It spoke to him with such softness that his body rejected it and he felt violently ill. What was happening? What was causing this whiplash of wickedness and kindness?

He felt the touch of Death and thought his suffering was over, but then he felt himself somewhere else. The walls were brown and the air was dusty, not like the air in Hell, but like something a lot nicer. There was a voice of light and gentle hands that held and caressed him until he started to feel again. Until he started to feel something other than pain.

'Where shall we go for dinner next, dear?' Aziraphale asked as the sun set on another day, 'I was thinking sushi, but I know how much you hate it and I think you deserve a little treat. So, what do you think about tapas? I know you don't like to share so we won't do that, but its nice to have some variety, don't you think?'

Crowley lay still.

'That's alright,' the angel sighed and rocked his friend gently in his arms, 'I know you'll come back to me when you're ready.'

And he did come back, in time. Eventually, Aziraphale could no longer stay on the floor with his friend all the time and had to open the shop and clean his clothes. He cleaned Crowley's clothes too and made him up a little bedroom on the second floor of the book shop which he never actually used for anything other than storing more books.

When Aziraphale was busy trying to convince customers that his shop was too old and wouldn't have anything they were interested in, Crowley blinked and sat up in the bed. The sheets were soft, but not warm. His skin was cold and sensitive. He bore no physical scars, but he could feel every blow of Beelzebub's blade cut through him with every breath.

'Well now,' Aziraphale's voice travelled up the stairs as he closed the shop door and headed up, 'thank heaven's they're gone. They had their eyes on my oldest copy of Necronomicon, but once I told them about Lovecraft's feelings towards pineapple on pizza they quickly changed their min—' Aziraphale was shocked to see Crowley awake, even though it was all he had been hoping to see for weeks now. 'Oh,' he breathed and walked into the room, 'Hello,'

'Hi,' Crowley said.

Silence fell as they looked at one another.

'How are you feeling?'

'Tortured.'

'Well…'

'And saved.'

Aziraphale smiled weakly, 'Crowley, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. I've been such an immeasurable fool.' He sat on the edge of the bed and held his face in his hands, 'I am in no way worthy of your forgiveness, I just can't—'

'Will you stop wittering on and get me something to drink?' Crowley waved him off and Aziraphale scuttled off to fetch some wine.


End file.
